I wanted to leave you guys with something, seeing as I won't be able to update for the next couple of weeks. I'm starting Band Camp at a hectic pace that won't even give me time to breathe, much less type. I'm sorry I was unable to post the recent chapter of Run Away With Me or 30 Seconds or even It's A Concept. So as I take my leave, I leave you with a new story which will be updated randomly just like all my impulse stories. I hope you understand and thank you all for the great summer of stories and reviews.

To My Goth Faerie: Back to band, didn't I meet you when band was about to start?

Please do not forget, this is an AU fic.

Self Conclusions

Forgetmenot

Today is my birthday.

Or at least, it's what I remembered it to be.

I was born eight years ago when I woke up in the middle of a country road, a nice old man leaning over me with a toothy kind smile. The old man took me to his home on a small ranch where his wife was waiting. His wife was so kind in greeting me, the first thing she did was hand me a chocolate chip cookie, I laughed, and that was the first time I heard my voice.

It was the middle of winter when I was born; I was only wearing a sweater when the old man brought me to his home. They bundled me up in blankets as I warmed by the fire, their old wrinkles crinkling in excitement of having a child.

They took care of the burns on my arms and the scratches on my face and legs and asked me where I came from. I told them I fell from the sky, at least that was the dream I was having before I woke up. They called me their little angel and I shook my head, it felt like that name belonged to someone else. I heard them call their dog in, 'Max!' and my eyes lit up. "That's my name." I told them. And they called me Max.

They asked me when my birthday was and I told them I didn't know, so they baked me a cake I celebrated my first birthday with them.

But the thing is, I was already ten years old.

Fang gazed out the rain streaked window, his fist pressed against it as he sat on the windowsill. His dark eyes were trained, seeing every flicker of moment, from a sudden flight of a bug to the big flashes of lightning but he was looking for someone, waiting for someone.

He had not seen her in eight years and it was she that gave him his name.

A flash of light lit up the dark room, illuminating his pale face and tinged his dark hair blue, he breathed in slowly, so slowly that it seemed like he didn't breathe at all.

Where are you? His brows furrowed in thought.

They died after my sixth birthday.

They were old, far too old to even take care of me. They were so grateful I could help out on the ranch and they loved me so much. Their relatives came in and buried them and they sold my home, never knowing I lived there. I took my things and left my home where smiling faces would never reach me.

I traveled across the country on wings the old woman saw when she gave me a bath. She smiled at me; her eyes watered with tears and said, "You really are an angel." And when I asked her what angels were, she explained it. I managed to live off of fast food and spare change for a year until I was captured by people in white coats, they would laugh at me cruelly before injecting medicines or poisons into my system, it made me begin to lose hope.

Two large hands helped me escape a week later, an urgent voice belonged to them, telling me to head to Colorado, I nodded when the hands handed me my pack before flying out into the sky.

The hands had told me that in Colorado there would be an E shaped house that had my family in it, a home for me to live happily and I followed it blindly but no one was there. No one lived in the E shaped house anymore when I got there. The voice had lied and my spark at life died.

My home with the old man and woman, gone, I was thrown out. My real family in an E shaped house, non-existent. And just when I had thought I couldn't take anymore, I got a head splitting headache. A proper term would go along the lines of brain attack.

I fell out of the sky, crashing through the ceiling and landing on the floor of a musty empty room, a cloud of dust flew out from beneath me and caused me to cough as I rolled around, clutching my head. It felt like knives were driving into my skull and the wielders of the knives thought they weren't stabbing it hard enough.

When the pain finally ebbed away, I sat up and looked around. There was a bed with a mattress; a single note lay upon it. Max's bed, stay off. It read in sloppy handwriting of a boy.

Would this have been my room before my family left? Would my family have been like me?

And then a small prick of pain formed in the back of my mind, a pleased voice entering my thoughts. Welcome home Max, it said, you need to find your family.

"Where do you think we lost her?" Asked a strawberry blonde haired male. Fang shrugged, holding a mug filled with hot chocolate between his hands. Fang gazed into it, thinking of a ten-year-old girl and wondering how much she's grown and if the government captured her.

"There was farm land where she got dropped, Iggy." Fang lifted his head, rattling his brain for memories. "And an old house with a blue roof."

"Wouldn't know," the strawberry blond haired named Iggy shrugged, "I was blind, and in fact I'm still blind." Iggy took a sip from his own mug sitting on the beside table. "But shouldn't we call it quits? I mean most people are considered dead after five years and it's been eight…"

"But she's not dead!" Snapped Fang, the ceramic mug cracking under pressure. His eyes widened before setting the mug on the bedside table so he wouldn't shatter it. "She's alive…" He trailed off, staring out the window once more.

"How do you know?" asked Iggy. "How do you know she's alive if I don't know? You don't have some special connection with her? You don't even have a power like Angel! How do you know?"

"I can feel her." Fang whispered, staring down at his hands. "Whenever I think hard about her, I can feel her pulse and her breath. I can feel when she's scared and shaking with anger and I can feel her tears."

"You sure you aren't imagining it? I mean I can imagine your pulse if I think about it." Iggy gave Fang a goofy look of a cross between confusion and insanity.

"You could," Fang agreed quietly, "but it'd be steady. Whenever I feel it, I can tell when she's sleeping and when she's awake, I can feel when she's on the run and when she's flying, when I feel her pulse I can see the blood running through her veins, and I can almost imagine her face."

"Sure you're not going mad?" Iggy took another sip of hot chocolate only to stick out his tongue in distaste; he had let it grow cold.

"I'm not." Fang assured. His eyes flickered to the window and to the door. "Go to bed and tell Gazzy to stop building that bomb. That ticking noise is getting on my nerves."

"We were hoping you wouldn't notice it, after all, we've been building it since we got here." Iggy picked up the cracked mug and his own as he stood up from the bed.

"And I've been hearing it since we got here." Fang rolled his eyes.

Is it raining where my family is? I wondered as I found a raincoat and nailed it to the ceiling of my dust covered room as it began to drizzle.

I dusted off my bed before flopping onto it, causing a cloud to rise from underneath it. I wonder what my family is like. I raised my hand high and made it parallel to the ceiling as I looked between the fingers.

A flicker of red on my middle finger caught my eye, a thin thread tied in a bow, with a string leading somewhere… I blinked at it was gone. Must've been my imagination, I brought the hand close to examine my middle finger. It was a forget me not, something that's not commonly used anymore. The old man and woman used it with me to make sure I fed the cattle and grabbed eggs from the chickens only because that's how they remembered. And I remembered that they tied it on tightly so it almost cut off circulation to the finger. I blinked once more, there it was again…

I blinked again, gone.

If it is a forget me not, who does it lead to?

"Do you know a bed time story?" A little girl with blonde hair bounded into the room.

"No." Fang replied stiffly, staring out the window. Eight years today…

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to me." I sung quietly as I lay curled on my bed. There was no one to bake a cake just like last year, there were no smiling faces, and no food. My stomach grumbled in protest, I haven't eaten since yesterday and I was starving.

I left my bedroom, looking around the house, the water worked, so did the gas and electricity, who was paying the bill on the place? You know what? Who cares?

I cleaned the bathroom a bit before slipping into the shower, feeling hot water on my skin for the first time in a long time. I hadn't had a proper shower since I was kicked out two years ago.

"December sings songs of sorrow, to die in undefiled snow or drown in the water of snow unborn. The songs of mourning with anew each day, never to be forgotten, settling a cold hold on people's hearts." I said aloud, thinking of a book I read a long time ago. The rain had stopped but it was beginning to snow. "A rain coat won't be able to hold snow for long." I mumbled to myself, searching the house for boards.

There were plenty in a bedroom that had a door sign Iggy. I wondered what an Iggy was or if that was a name.

I fixed the roof as much as possible but felt a draft filtering through.

Fang.

I blinked at the name on the door of a room, the very last one in the hall. It was familiar to me, why? I pushed the door open causing it to creak slightly. It was dusty but not as dusty as mine. It was dark and warm, a dresser against the wall and a neatly made bed with black covers. I set my pack on the floor, plugging in my Ipod for charging. I lay on the dusty bed, thinking how grateful I was to have the old man and woman and how they gave me almost everything I could have dreamed of wanting. They gave me a laptop and an Ipod, telling me it was the new confounded things youngsters liked. I laughed when the old man said it.

I kicked off my shoes, listening to my Ipod as it charged and slipping beneath the covers. The covers felt warm, almost recently used as if the person had been sleeping here not long ago. My head rested heavily on the black pillow, I breathed in its scent, ignoring the dust. It smelled of the forest and wild strawberries, I smiled, imagining that a boy used to sleep in this bed. My fingers reached up to touch the pillow as I lay on my side, they pressed gently against the pillow covering as if searching for a familiar indention or trying to find the source of heat.

I sang softly to the music, closing my eyes, my body at ease in this room. Whoever Fang was, they sure had a comfy bed.

Fang's eyes snapped open as he felt a warm brush against his cheek. He had been laying on his side, dreaming of his room in the E shaped house. He could still feel the warm touch, it was almost as if it was trying to cradle his face. His eyes looked around wildly, he was the only one in the room. Then the warmth settled on his cheek, making his face flush lightly, making him aware that his bed felt warmer than usual. There was no extra weight on his bed, in fact, nothing was there but Fang could feel her pulse. He could feel her light breathing on his collar bone, telling him she was asleep. He smelled the fresh air of the country, gardenias, and the faint smell of bubble gum. Was this her? His eyes closed slightly as he felt himself ease a little, a sense of sadness tinged his heart a little, she felt sad…
Thank for convincing me to do this story and thanks to all my readers and reviewers, I hope you see you soon :D

Challenge Time: In which fanfiction(s) did Fang memorize the dictionary? Please name author with story.

Preview:

Like Snow

I woke up slowly, hearing a sob escape my throat and became aware of the tears falling from my eyes, my hand gripped the pillow tightly. I miss them, the old man and woman, they were the closest thing to family. I had been dreaming about them before I woke up, they were celebrating my eighth birthday with me and they were beaming at me like crazy.

The warmth from the bed faded a bit and I saw the red string on the middle finger of the hand gripping the pillow my head rested on. Where did that string lead to?

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Adieu
Nightwing